


A Pinch of Nutmeg

by kemtai_manko



Category: Sector General - James White
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 12:24:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1898916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kemtai_manko/pseuds/kemtai_manko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene for The Galactic Gourmet - what transpired in O'Mara's office during the nutmeg poisoning incident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pinch of Nutmeg

             For as much as he enjoyed complaining about it, O’Mara didn’t actually mind doing the incoming trainee psych profile reviews.  It may have been paperwork, but it was paperwork that allowed him free rein to roam in an alien’s psyche – and this batch looked to have some surprises in store.  He brought the first file up on his desk computer.

_Name: Da Kesh           Classification: DCNF_

            A Sommaradvan.  Cha Thrat would likely have something to say about that.  O’Mara secretly suspected it relished being the sole representative of its species in the hospital.  A shadow cast into the office from the door, and he looked up to see Cha Thrat itself resting two of its medial arms on the doorframe.  Speak of the devil.

            Cha Thrat gestured something O’Mara had only recently learnt to read as mild apology.  With eight limbs available for gesturing, the combinatoric possibilities were astounding – and the Sommaradvans made good use of the range available to them.  “I had no intent to interrupt your work.  Has Lieutenant Braithwaite not arrived?”

            “On his way.  He decided to have lunch with Lioren today – well over the hour I gave him ago, I might add.”  He sighed and shook his head, briefly wondering if Cha Thrat was making any progress in reading Earth-human facial expressions.  It claimed it had been studying, but the incident in the Chalder ward last week with a suddenly shark-phobic trainee seemed to indicate otherwise.  “Oh, come in.  Get yourself settled.”

            Cha Thrat lay its stack of notes on O’Mara’s spacious desk, and began the time-honored ritual of circling the office looking for a suitable chair.  As it pulled something resembling a deformed ottoman up to the desk, the unmistakable sound of a Tarlan voice from the corridor indicated that O’Mara’s other two underlings had returned from their meal.  He looked at them as they entered, prepared to give them the verbal chastising that their tardiness deserved, but stopped when he saw Braithwaite.   The normally immaculately dressed lieutenant had his uniform’s tie pulled low from his neck, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone.

            O’Mara soon realized he wasn’t the only one to notice something odd about Braithwaite – Lioren was standing next to him, making repeated gestures of concern with its forelimbs. It placed a reassuring appendage on Braithwaite’s shoulder.

            He twisted away, shouting.  “Off!  I said I’m fine, padre!  How many times?  Now, if you’ll excuse yourself, this isn’t your meeting, is it?”

            Lioren bowed his head and went back to his desk in the outer office without another word.  O’Mara just looked at him in shock.  “Something wrong, lieutenant?”

            Braithwaite seemed to be avoiding his superior’s gaze.  _He thinks I won’t notice anything wrong, then.  Unlikely._ He sighed, and finally said, “No. Let’s get to work.”

            O’Mara began reading from Da Kesh’s profile.  He had been a servile-healer – the lowest medical caste – back on Sommaradva, but an unusually accomplished one, having been invited to  tend to the physical ailments of some the highest ranking members of the ruler caste.   

            Cha Thrat looked vaguely uncomfortable at the revelation that someone of lowborn ancestry, even among the servile caste themselves, was treating Sommaradva’s most respected rulers.  It began to comment, but was cut off by a low moan from Braithwaite’s direction.  His head rested in his hands, and his eyes looked miles away from the present situation.

           “Lieutenant?” O’Mara queried. 

            He snapped back to the present, startled.  “Fine, fine. Just a little off this afternoon, that’s all.  Let’s move on.”

            Cha Thrat raised a medial limb in concern, but they pressed on with the reports.  Braithwaite was silent as O’Mara and Cha Thrat discussed the finer points of the Sommaradvan medical system.  O’Mara even left empty pauses in the conversation for him to express his thoughts, but nothing was forthcoming.  Eventually, they moved on to the second profile, a Melfan medical prodigy called Dopaket.  Halfway through their discussion of Dopaket’s short, if exemplary, career, Braithwaite grabbed the glass of water from O’Mara’s desk, downing it in a single gulp.

            “Huh.  Anything else I can get you?” O’Mara asked dryly.

            Braithwaite didn’t seem to notice the tone.  “No, no, just thirsty, all of a sudden.  Very, very … er, what was I saying?”

            “You weren’t _saying_ anything; you were stealing my water.  There’ll be a charge for that, you know.”

            “Oh, sorry…”  He started to fish around in his uniform pocket for his currency card. 

            This was odd, certainly.  Braithwaite may have liked to take matters a little too seriously on occasion, but he was a competent enough psychologist to recognize sarcasm when he heard it.  O’Mara looked him over with a concern he didn’t allow to show in his face.  Braithwaite’s eyes had gone distant again, and he seemed to be breathing faster.

            “Would you rather we did this later, lieutenant?”  No answer.  “You’re not exactly looking your best.  Why don’t you go back to your quarters, and rest?  Cha Thrat and I can finish the reports ourselves.”

            There was a long pause.  Suddenly, Braithwaite kicked his chair out from underneath him. “I didn’t ask for any of your damn sympathy, O’Mara!”

            Cha Thrat and O’Mara glanced at each other, baffled by the response, but Braithwaite wasn’t finished.  “And you!  I see you judging me, you self-amputating freak!  I, I know what you …” His voice trailed off slowly.  Braithwaite’s hands gripped the edge of the desk so firmly O’Mara worried it might break in two.

            More than that, though, he worried about his subordinate.  He’d never known the calm, collected Braithwaite to raise his voice all the years he’d been working in the Psychology department.  Normally, O’Mara would have been almost pleased to see him lose control – he’d always seemed far _too_ composed – but this was different.  Sudden anger, signs of xenophobia – this wasn’t the Braithwaite he’d come to know.  Cha Thrat was doing its best to ignore what Braithwaite had said, but O’Mara had long since learnt to read Sommaradvan facial expressions.

            “Pull yourself together, lieutenant!” O’Mara shouted, but Braithwaite didn’t seem to hear.  He released his vice grip on the desk, slowly and carefully, as if he wasn’t sure he could stand without its support.  His hands were shaking as he slowly brought them to cover his eyes, all the while muttering to himself.

            “No, no … I never wanted to … please don’t … I’m begging you …”

            O’Mara’s mind briefly scanned the options.  There was no question that the man in front of him was suddenly seriously disturbed, probably hallucinating.  This, fortunately, wasn’t a situation he’d often encountered in Sector General – hardly ever, given the careful screening of staff applicants, and the fact that the hospital contained no psychiatric ward.  He tried to cast his mind back to his early mentor’s lessons in formal psychology and psychiatry.  What would Craythorne have done?  In any case, though, there was nothing else for it.  Lieutenant Brathwaite was no longer his subordinate, he was a patient.  The time had come, as Cha Thrat would have so delicately put it, to cast his spells.

            O’Mara softened his voice and expression in a way that few in the hospital had ever seen.  He stood from his desk and circled it, coming face-to-face with Braithwaite.  He laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.  “It’s alright, now.  Tell me what’s happening.  Tell me what you’re seeing.”

            “No, it’s not, it’s not … they’re coming, they said so … I can’t fight it … please, sir ...”

            O’Mara was vaguely amused that the man was regulation-obsessed enough to call him “sir” even in a semi-delusional state.  “Who’s coming?”

            Braithwaite began teetering on his feet.  O’Mara gently took him by the shoulders and brought him down to lay upon the floor of the office.  He sat down by his head.  “Braithwaite, listen to me.  You’re safe here.  Please, try to pay attention.  What do you see?”

            He suddenly grabbed for O’Mara’s hand, clasping it tightly between his.  “No!  I can’t!  They’d … there’s nothing!  I can’t …” Tears were beginning to fill his eyes.  His breathing grew faster and shallower. 

            “Braithwaite!”  Panic began to enter O’Mara’s voice.  What could cause such a thing?  He tried to sort his mind through the possibilities, but scratched each one off the list as he came to it.  Braithwaite’s psych profile and family history were completely clean, more so than any other O’Mara had ever read.  Nothing that would indicate he’d be susceptible to anything like this.  Cha Thrat stood, watching him silently, but at full attention.  _Typical Sommaradvan, always deferring to the higher rank_.  “Braithwaite, listen to me!  Can you hear what I’m saying to you?”

            The answer was a clear ‘no’, as spoken by his distant gaze and the terrified look in his eyes.  O’Mara leaned in closer.  “Braithwaite?” No response.  Finally, concern for the man he’d come to see as one of his only friends in the hospital overwhelmed his formality. “Charles…?” he whispered. “Charles, you’ll be alright.  Fight it.   Please…”  One hand still holding Braithwaite’s, he signaled Cha Thrat to get a mild sedative from the closet with the other.  He had to get Braithwaite calm enough to bring him to a ward for treatment.  Cha Thrat understood, and began searching through the haphazardly arranged closet for an appropriate chemical.  O’Mara may have known where everything was, but, he suddenly realized, he never taught his subordinates his rather unique filing system.  He made a mental note to do so in the future –

            The first seizure was violent.  As soon as it started to rack his body, O’Mara looked up to shout orders at Cha Thrat.  “Forget the vial!  There’s a communicator on my desk – get the closest response team down here, now!”  He turned his face back towards his lieutenant.  “And Conway, and Thornnastor!”

            He turned Braithwaite on his side, barely registering Cha Thrat calling in a medical emergency over the hospital intercom.  He hadn’t come back to full consciousness yet, but O’Mara sat by him, hand resting on his shoulder.  “Don’t worry, Charles.  We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

 

             

**Author's Note:**

> As far as I know, Conway was the only human in the whole book series who ever got a first name. So I made one up.
> 
> Please comment!


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